Posted by: cydonian | June 10, 2004

The Merry Festival of Belgthor

(I apparently wrote this two years back.)

Now, when the Gregorian Year does March,
Only thrice does it lurch.
First there is the Ides,
Beware that, but not without reason.
Then there’s the tides,
that change along with the season.

Interspersed within, lies a day,
Upon which our puzzle lay.
Lunation runes are, but a grief,
So let me be brief.

It wasn’t Arlaug, it wasn’t Tvimadur,
Heck, it wasn’t even Logr,
For it was years two four and one score,
I was born on the Merry Festival of Belgthor.

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Responses

  1. yet…

    nothing…

    don’t wanna push any buttons on this one.

    backing away. backing away.
    Beep! Beep! STOP THAT!

  2. Well :-), I came up with the term ‘Belgthor’ at a time when I was down and out. This poem, written later during a much more optimistic period, was a reflection of those earlier bleak times.

    I hadn’t published it before because I didn’t want to sound vain, but now that I look back upon it, I found the text quaintly charming. At worse, it’s a great excuse to google terms up! 😀


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